


Red Ball

by romanticalgirl



Series: Monthly Challenge Fics [4]
Category: Bandom, Cobra Starship, Fall Out Boy
Genre: Gen, Homicide AU, Murder, Murder Mystery, Serial Killers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-16
Updated: 2014-02-16
Packaged: 2018-01-12 15:06:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1189659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/romanticalgirl/pseuds/romanticalgirl





	Red Ball

Gabe always bows his head when they turn the body over. Pete asked him once what he said to himself in those moments, and Gabe gave him that 100-yard stare that gets so many perps to confess in the box. Pete let it drop after that. 

Instead he makes himself look for the both of them. Not out of a lack of respect, but the opposite. Because every single case is a body and every single body is a person. A person someone silenced. It’s Pete and Gabe’s job to give them back their voice long enough to get justice. It doesn’t always work out that way, but Pete’ll be damned if he ever stops trying.

This one’s more gruesome than most. The body’s been out for several days and decomposition has set in, the insects having a feast. The medical examiner takes samples and makes a few notes then nods to the team to take the body. “I’d say three to four days given the weather of the last week. I’ll know more once I’ve got her on the table.”

“Thanks, Doc.” Pete rubs his forehead with one hand and slides his notebook into his pocket with the other. He’s wearing the cheapest of his cheap suits, and he feels the fabric rasp against his skin. Gabe looks dapper as always, like he woke up wearing Armani. “You think we have any chance at witnesses?”

“Around here?” Gabe shakes his head and starts walking the area, starting at where the body lay and working out in a grid. Pete takes the opposite side. They’ve worked together long enough that they don’t really need to talk to communicate. Pete usually talks anyway, because he’s really bad at _not_ talking, but Gabe has managed to tune him out, though he listens with half an ear, Pete knows, because he always looks up when Pete manages to say something relevant or important.

Pete interrupts his dissection of his date the night before – and dissection is really the wrong word, he reminds himself – when he uses his pen to turn over a leaf-covered piece of wood. It’s a flat piece, about two feet by four feet, and he only notices it because an edge is sticking out. Gabe turns toward him in the sudden silence and Pete winces. “Oh fuck. This case just got worse.”

**

The ME comes back, this time with the fire department. They lower a ladder into the hole Pete uncovered, but Gabe doesn’t let them go further than that. “We’ll go first.”

Given the smell coming out, the firemen don’t argue, though Pete is tempted to. At least when he throws the suit away he won’t be out a week’s pay like Gabe will. Of course, Gabe probably has his dry cleaner on speed dial. They both put Vicks under their nose to block some of the smell, but it still gets through, getting worse as they descend into the dark, despite the work light shining down into the depths. Gabe turns his flashlight on when he gets to the floor, and Pete makes the mistake of looking down. It’s worse than the body above ground. That one was subtle compared to the bloodbath Gabe’s standing in the middle of. Pete swallows the bile that rises in his throat and takes the last steps down to the ground. Something ripples through Gabe and his shoulders jerk, and Pete knows that this time Gabe won’t close his eyes. Pete’s not sure he’ll close his own eyes. Ever again.

**

They bring in a whole team after that, and Conrad brings clothes for both Pete and Gabe to change into. Pete ties his suit up in a bundle with his tie then takes one of the garbage bags from the clean up team and throws it inside. Even if the smell came out, he’s pretty sure the blood won’t come out of the cuffs of his pants. Gabe does the same, even though Pete knows he came out spotless. Physically spotless. Pete understands that too.

“Let’s go knock on some doors.” Gabe’s voice is gruff, and Pete wants to say something that might help, but he has no idea what words would do the trick. Instead he starts walking, hoping to get a few feet ahead of Gabe so they might get where they’re going at the same time. When they first started working together, Gabe told him he wasn’t going to adjust his gait to Pete, and he hasn’t. Pete actually likes it. He doesn’t want anyone treating him differently for any reason. Ever.

They don’t get much of anything from any of the residence. It’s the kind of neighborhood that no one notices anything, whether they do or not. The ride back to the precinct is quiet, Pete staring at his notes rather than talking. Pete gets out at the garage entrance and jogs up the stairs, hitting the vending machines on the way. It’s his turn for snacks, so he gets Cheetos and Fritos and Funnyons as well as four Snickers bars and two cheese sandwiches. He gets four Red Bulls out of the next machine and then heads up the last flight. Gabe shows up a few minutes later, tossing the keys to the car to duty officer. 

Taking a Red Bull from Pete’s extended hand, Gabe sits at his desk across from Pete and turns his chair so he can stretch his legs out in front of him. “Serials are the fucking worst.”

Pete nods and opens his sandwich with a rough squeal of plastic and glue. He takes one slice of bread off then grabs four mustard packs out of his desk drawer. He opens them with his teeth and pours them on the sad slices of cheese one by one. When he pushes the bread back on, yellow oozes out the sides, and ends up all over his palms and wrist when he takes a bite.

“You’re disgusting, you know that?”

“You love me.” Pete takes another bite and looks at Gabe, chewing with his mouth open. Gabe smirks and flips him off then tucks his legs under the desk, looking down at his notes. “The gal in the blue house knows something.”

“Yeah. But she won’t talk. She’s being abused and has three kids to worry about. She’s not going to talk to us about anything, because the asshole will assume it’s about him.” Gabe sighed. “They’re going to have to set up a hotline. Maybe she’ll call.”

“She won’t call.”

“No.” Gabe sighs. “She won’t call.”

“Forensics should give us something.” Pete shrugs and licks mustard off his wrist. “In a year or two when they sift through everything.”

“This is going to be a fucking red ball. I fucking _hate_ red balls.”

“So does Captain Hitt.” Pete sighs and finally digs a napkin out of his bottom drawer, doing his best to wipe a dollop of mustard off one of his reports. “He’s the one who has to talk to the press.”

“That better not be the McKenzie file you just smeared your lunch on.”

“It’s not! It’s...um...” Pete flushes and shoves the last bite of his sandwich in his mouth. Gabe rolls his eyes again and picks up his phone.

**

“You haven’t talked about what’s-her-name in a while.” 

Pete sighs and puts his feet up on the dashboard until Gabe glares at him long enough to make him feel guilty. “We’re not seeing each other anymore.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m an immature jerk. Her words, not mine.” He chews his thumbnail. “And she’d rather fuck a chipmunk than spend another night with me.”

“Wow. That’s pretty aggressive.”

“Or she’s into small, furry woodland creatures. Or she’s Snow White. Was it Snow White that talked to animals? Or Cinderella. I forget.”

“I’m from Uruguay, Pete.”

“Oh, right. Except you were _five_ when you came here, so don’t pretend like Walt Disney is a foreign concept.”

Gabe laughs and hits the turn signal, pulling off and parking in the lot. It’s Taco Loco food truck Tuesday, and Gabe’s turn to pay. Pete orders his usual lunch of five tacos and an extra large drink and waits on the hood of the car for Gabe to bring everything over. Gabe stands, and they spread the food out on the hood, letting the still warm engine keep the grease from solidifying. Gabe takes a bite of his cheese, lettuce, and tomato taco and licks the hot sauce from the corner of his mouth. “I got the forensic report on the initial body.”

“I’m so glad you waited for lunch to tell me that.” Pete takes a giant bite and ends up with grease on his tie. Sometimes he hates Gabe’s ability to remain neat with a passion. He follows the bite up with three long swallows on his straw, letting the Mountain Dew hit his system like a hammer to his skull. “Is there anything useable?”

“Not really, not unless we catch the guy.”

“No matches on VICAP?”

“Nope. Partial fingerprint and a decent semen sample. Nothing to go on until we catch someone and get a swab to compare.” 

“Great.” Pete takes another bite, catching the meat before it hit his lap and sucking it out of his palm, grease and all. He remembers the napkin just before he wipes his hand on his pants. “So we have to do _all_ the work.”

“We got an ID on her though.”

“How? There weren’t any fingerprints. Or fingers.”

Gabe shrugs and takes another bite and chews thoughtfully. Pete knows he’s got more to say, but he has to wait for the requisite thirty chews. Sometimes strangling Gabe seems like the only option for Pete to keep his sanity. “Apparently she’d had a rape kit done in college.”

“So we have DNA on the rapist too?”

“Yeah, Matt Baker. But he was killed in prison.”

“He got _convicted_?” Pete hates the surprise in his voice, but that’s not the result he’s used to hearing in rape cases. 

“Not on the rape charge.” Gabe smiles, and Pete frowns. “She also accused him of indecent exposure.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope. Guilty of that, and with the extenuating circumstances, the jury gave him 110 months in prison. He got shit for being a weenie-wagger, and that didn’t go well for him. Smart girl.”

“Not smart enough.” Pete finished his third taco and drained the last of his drink. “Barkeep! Another!”

“It’s a wonder your skin isn’t piss-yellow with the amount of that stuff you drink.” Gabe tucked the last bite of his taco into his mouth and went back to the truck to buy Pete another drink. 

Pete drummed his heels on the bumper, deep enough in thought that Gabe startled him when he pressed the cold drink against the back of Pete’s hand. “The blue house.”

It was Gabe’s turn to frown. “I’m not following.”

“Shit. Shit.” Pete hops off the car sending his two other tacos sliding to the ground. He slaps at his chest and then hurries to the passenger door, tugging his jacket off the seat and digging his notebook out of his inside pocket. “Baker. Baker. Baker. I mean, it’s a long shot, right? I mean...but...” He flips the pages frantically, ripping at least two of them almost out of the book altogether. “Here! Ha!” He shoves the notebook in Gabe’s direction. “Joe and Arlene Baker.”

Gabe starts to say something as he skims Pete’s horrific handwriting, but his mouth closes with an audible snap. “Brother of a rapist is a long way from serial killer.”

“What if...” Pete looks at Gabe with wide eyes. “What if it’s two people? What if it’s someone taking advantage of the fact that a serial killer is working in his neighorhood to take revenge on someone who inadvertently got his brother killed? If he is his brother. I mean, Baker’s a common name, but...”

“Gut instinct.” Gabe nods and smacks Pete on the top of his head with the notebook before handing it over. “Get in the car.”

Pete jerks his door open and climbs inside. Gabe actually takes the time to grab the rest of the food off the car as well as the tacos on the ground and toss it in the trash can beside them. “It would have been way more dramatic if you’d left it.”

“It would have been littering.”

“You’re bad even for a cop, you know that?”

Gabe gives him a toothy smile and puts the car in gear, heading back toward the station.

**

Pete spends the next four hours cursing at paperwork, the prison system, the station’s ancient computers, and whoever does the state’s data entry. Gabe’s busy in Captain Hitt’s office explaining their theory. Pete’s theory. Pete would be in there, but he lacks the skill and ability to shut up to be effective when it comes to schmoozing. 

His computer screen goes black, and he starts to panic until he hits his mouse and it comes back in the middle of the search he’s got going on. He finally gets the information he’s looking for, and he gives Gabe a thumbs up through the glass of the Captain’s office. Gabe acknowledges him with a slight nod then turns back to Hitt. Pete doesn’t actually have anything that’s solid. Matt and Joe are common names, and Baker is even worse, but circumstantial is good enough for now. It’s a starting point.

“Get him in the box,” Hitt calls out as Gabe opens the door to leave his office. He’s grinning in triumph, but Pete knows he’s the only one who’ll see it. It’s Gabe congratulating him, and Pete hates how good it feels. He revels in it, but he hates it too. It means things he doesn’t want to think about, things he has no intention of thinking about. Instead he hits the print button and listens to the dot-matrix start up. 

“We’re golden.” Gabe slaps Pete on the shoulder. He grabs his jacket and puts it on, adjusting it so it lay just so, making the gun unnoticeable. “Let’s go play cops and robbers.”

“Can I be the bad cop this time?”

“Nope.” Gabe grins at him and Pete has to grin back. He sucks at being the bad cop. “Maybe next time.”

“That’s what you always say.” Pete tugs his own jacket on, ignoring the crumbs from the Pringles he’d been eating that shower off the sleeve. “I think you might be lying to me.”

“Would I do that?”

Pete adjusts his holster under his jacket as Gabe grabs the keys to a car. “Maybe I should get you in the box and find out.”

**

Gabe in the box is amazing. He’s perfected it to an art. He’s got deep seated anger that he controls like Indiana Jones with a whip, even though he lies to Pete and says he doesn’t know who Indiana Jones is either, and he’s scary as fuck. That’s when he’s yelling. When’s he’s talking quietly he makes even good guys shake. Everyone comes to watch when he’s got someone in there, especially when he’s really just fishing. They’ve got nothing substantial on Joe Baker, but that’s not going to stop them from finding something.

He’s already defensive by the time Gabe shoves him in there and cuffs him to the table. He’s blaming Arlene, calling her all sorts of names, and Pete can see Gabe’s anger growing. Women are important to Gabe, even though he doesn’t think much of his mother. His grandmother is like a saint to him. 

Gabe’s eyes are almost black when he turns his chair around and straddles it, looking at Baker like he’s the scum of the earth. Pete turned in the car keys and had them dispatch a female officer and a social worker out to the Baker house. He shuts the door and leans against it, and wonders how many of the rest of the force are crammed behind the two-way mirror.

Walking over, Pete lays a hand on Gabe’s shoulder and sits on the edge of the table, closer to Baker. “We’re just here to talk, Joe.”

“Don’t fucking call me Joe.”

“Don’t fucking talk to my partner that way,” Gabe growls. Pete closes his eyes for a second. He knows Baker will think he’s trying to remain calm at Gabe’s antics, but it’s for a completely different reason. Pete’s emotions are too much on edge if he’s thinking about _that_ right now, so he focuses on Baker instead, letting the image of Karen Heinz, the victim, linger in his head. That’s another reason Pete always looks.

“Fine, Mr. Baker. We just want to talk.”

“I know what that cunt told you. It’s a fucking load of lies. She’s a whore. She brings assholes home to fuck her in front of my kids.”

“So why don’t you leave her?” He keeps his voice reasonable, agreeable. “If it were me, I’d take my kids and get out of there.”

“I’m not letting some cunt run me off. I’m not a ball-less wonder like you, dickwad.”

Gabe growls again and comes up out of his chair. Pete glances at him, at the fire in his eyes, and is fervently glad Gabe’s on his side. Pete reaches out and pushes him back down. “I think saving his kids would be something a man would do.”

“I don’t even fucking know if they’re mine. She’s a dirty slut, spreading her legs to anybody. Hell, she probably fucked you two both to get you to believe her. You’re probably dirty cops and she probably fucking gives you a kick-back in pussy.”

Pete knows that he’s going to have to hold Gabe back if this asshole keeps it up, so he redirects the conversation. “Tell me about your brother.”

“What the _fuck_ does my brother have to do with this?”

Gabe’s smile is positively feral. “Does being a rapist run in the family?”

Baker slams his hands on the table and stands up. “My brother wasn’t a rapist!”

Gabe slams his hands on the table too, getting in Baker’s face. “Sit the _fuck_ down.”

He looks like he’s going to protest, but decides better of it and sinks down into his chair. Pete touches Gabe’s arm and he does the same, still glaring. “Now, Joe, we know your brother wasn’t convicted of rape.”

“No,” Gabe sneers. “He just liked to show his tiny dick to women and kids. Did your kids get to see his tiny dick, Joe?”

“Fuck you.” Joe spits in Gabe’s direction and before Joe or Pete can react, Gabe’s in Baker’s face. Even in the weak yellow light, Pete can see spit glint off Gabe’s teeth. 

“You got a tiny dick too, Joe? Maybe your kids just see your dick. Or maybe you’re hoping we’ll nail you on this so that you can go to prison and be someone’s bitch just like your rapist brother.”

Joe rears up out of his chair with a roar and tries to go for Gabe. The cuffs stop him, jerking his arms hard in their sockets. Pete winces at the sound. Gabe just steps back one step, laughing. “My brother wasn’t a fucking rapist and he didn’t fucking do anything. That cunt was a lying bitch.”

“Who was?” Pete’s voice is soft, seeming even softer in the tense breathing of the room. 

“That fucking whore who accused my brother. She slept around and she was _asking_ for it.”

“For what?”

“To get laid, you stupid fuck.” Baker glares at Pete and Pete raises an eyebrow.

“Sit down, Mr. Baker.”

“Fuck you.”

Gabe’s laugh is dangerous. “My partner told you to sit the fuck down.” Baker does only when Gabe kicks at the table, shoving it into his stomach. He lands hard and Pete knows it jars his shoulders from the reaction when he hits the chair.

“What happened to her?”

Baker’s eyes snap to Pete. “Who?”

“The woman that accused your brother.”

“Fuck if I know.”

“Really?” Gabe props his feet on the table. “You didn’t keep tabs on her? I mean, if my brother was convicted for something he didn’t do, I’d want to know what the person who accused him was doing. I’d want to know where that person was. I’d want proof that that person was a liar.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I should hire you then.”

“You can’t afford me.” 

Pete gives Gabe a look and then walks behind him. “What was her name?”

“Who?”

“The woman.”

“What woman?”

“Which fucking woman do you think we mean?” Gabe stands up, taking Pete’s cue to walk behind Baker, stay out of his line of sight. “What woman were we talking about? What woman is this fucking discussion about, you stupid fuck?”

“The one that accused my brother?”

“No, asshole.” Gabe leans in from behind Baker and drops his voice. “The woman you killed.”

Baker jerks and tries to turn his head to see Gabe. His eyes are wide, wild when he can’t find him and finally turns back to Pete. “What the fuck is he talking about?”

“The woman you killed in the field by your house,” Gabe’s still talking softly, still behind Baker. “Because you’re stupid. The woman you killed and thought we’d be stupid enough to blame it on the serial killer. The woman you killed because you’re just as fucking pathetic as your brother. No one gets sent up for fucking indecent exposure. Nobody but a brain dead asshole.”

“Fuck you! Fuck you!” He twists in his seat, jerking his arms again. “Matt was innocent. That fucking bitch was a liar! She was all over him. She _wanted_ it! And then she accused him because she didn’t want people to know she was a fucking whore!”

“A better liar than your brother if they believed her.”

“Fuck you. And fuck her! She showed up at my _house_. She fucking showed up and talked to my fucking _wife_. Told her fucking _lies_. She deserved everything she got!”

Gabe stepped away from Baker and walked back toward Pete. Pete shook his head and leaned in toward Joe. “What’d she get? What’d she deserve?”

“Fucking cunt deserved to die.”

**

After that it’s all downhill. Pete walks out and leaves Gabe in there with him, knowing that he’ll get the as much information from him as he can before Baker lawyers up and use what he knows about the serial killer to work a bargain for himself. Now it’s time for them to cross their Ts and dot their Is so that when it does go to court the asshole won’t walk. 

Pete’s working on the first round of paperwork when Gabe comes up beside him, leaning against the desk. “I want to punch something.”

“Gym?”

“Bar.”

“I don’t think you should punch something at a bar.”

“Then let’s get a bottle of something and go to my house.”

“I don’t want you to punch me.”

Gabe laughs and Pete looks up from his papers. Gabe smiling down at him and something in Pete’s gut twists. “I want to relax so I don’t punch something. We can watch a movie. Get a pizza. Drink cheap booze.”

“You don’t drink cheap booze.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to shock your system with the good stuff.”

Pete laughs. “Fuck you.” Gabe’s brow furrows slightly and he tilts his head and stares at Pete for a long time. Pete shifts in his seat, finally dropping his gaze. 

“Do you?”

“Do I what?” Pete looks up quickly feeling like Baker must have when Gabe was questioning him – caught, trapped, guilty.

“Or would you, I guess.”

“You don’t.”

“When was the last time I talked about a date, Pete?”

“We’re partners.” He means it as a protest, a reason not to. He’s pretty sure it doesn’t sound that way at all. Especially when Gabe nods.

“I know.”


End file.
